


Loss

by PrincessMidnaofTwilight



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, also mild spoilers, because i apparently am incapable of writing literally anything else, for the game so pls read at ur own discretion, i just really love the idea of dimitri being her rock, idk how to describe this fic beyond "not to be nsfw but can i hold ur hand", so like take that as you will, when most of the time she's a place for him to rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2021-01-13 14:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMidnaofTwilight/pseuds/PrincessMidnaofTwilight
Summary: This fic is essentially me exploring the aftermath of what happened to Jeralt on the Blue Lions path before Dimitri's conversation with Byleth in the game (in which Dimileth is sailing like the marvelous ship that it is)This is essentially pure sad fluff more than anything, plus protective Dimitri for the soul (for those of you that spot his one jealous moment eyyyyyyyy I couldn't help myself lol)





	Loss

Each breath was stuttering, hissing between his teeth--a broken, compressed gasping that foretold the quick approach of his end. Jeralt forced a smile, even as his face contorted in pain. She’d never, ever seen him look quite like that.

“Sorry. It looks like...I’m going to have to leave you now.”

She hadn’t realized the burn building behind her eyes, or the way the trickle cooled as the tears fled down her cheeks until one graced his face. She was too busy trying to tend to the wound, but there was no blood to halt in its tracks. No amount of healing magic was making the skin close and mend--angry and red and faintly shimmering; as though someone had infused his veins with lava, and he was burning up from the inside out. 

“To think that the first time I saw you cry...your tears would be for me.” A sad smile softened his face, the same one he’d always wear when he spoke of her mother. For a moment, his breathing eased. “It’s sad, and yet...I’m happy for it.”

“Thank you...kid.” The whisper rode on his final breath, and he sagged in her arms, eyes closed. 

She was no stranger to emptiness. Life had always held that strange quality of existing but simultaneously holding little to no gravity; as though she were walking in a misted garden, guided by faint moonlight. Her father had always been there to remind her that there were flowers and thorns, and how to take care when encountering either. 

She knew she was strange. The terrified whispers and suspicious glances abounded the older she became, to say nothing of the distant regard of other children--wherever they did manage to encounter them when she was young. But none of it really seemed to matter, none of it bothered her much. Was it because when she opened the door to whichever inn they were staying in, he would always be there to greet her with a smile?

There had been no shortage of people that tried to broach the topic of how...lacking she was, primarily in expression. And his answer would always be the same, no matter how many years passed.

_ “Sure the kid worries me, but isn’t that only natural as a parent? I want to make sure she’s okay. If I have to ask a few more questions, or pay closer attention to understand where she’s coming from, I don’t mind.” _

And now he was gone. Already growing cold in her arms, the only lingering heat effused from where the wound was centered. 

Dead. Unresponsive. Beyond her reach. Forever. 

It was hard to make sense of it; it didn’t feel quite real. He rarely returned from missions with injuries, and even when he did they were always flesh wounds. A cut here, a slice there--nothing serious. All things she could bandage. All things that could--_ and would _\--mend. 

After countless years of fighting, a single strike would be the thing that ended it all.

Hoarse, gossamer sobs poured from her throat and quivering shoulders, and she squeezed the hand that had tried to reach for her--to wipe the tears away--but had fallen. The ones that braided and slipped bows in her hair, the ones that had taught her to hold a sword swift and sure, the ones that were always there to catch her when she stumbled. He was always there--she couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t. 

When it began to rain--to pour in cascading torrents--she didn’t notice. It wasn’t long before she was soaked through, but the shivering could have equally been a product of the unfamiliar crying. She didn’t move even as her knees dug into the softened earth beneath, caked in mud as any beast blood that had splattered on her person dissolved. 

“Professor!”

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard a multitude of voices call out, too distant and overlapping to decipher. The distinct squelch and slap of boots racing down the field was unmistakable; she recognized it in some part of her mind. It was hard to care, hard to focus--she couldn’t remember a time that was truer than it was now. She was swathed in darkness, and this time there was nothing to distinguish the world around her. 

“Professor! Professor, are you all right? We--” Bright concern cut through the rain, louder than usual because of the noise. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Dimitri, a warm hand on her shoulder burning through her frozen skin. “Oh, Seiros--Mercedes! We need--”

She shook her head once, but it was enough for him to understand--it always was. 

He stilled. If she’d been more attentive, maybe she would have felt the compassion effusing from him in waves, hand squeezing lightly at her shoulder.

“Ashe, Annette, please inform the other professors and the knights that we require their assistance. Convince them to convene at the infirmary as soon as they can.”

Without another word, they ran.

“Come on, professor, we need to get you out of the rain.” Sylvain’s voice was muted, nothing at all like the indifferent jeering or cavalier compliments. 

“Sylvain, Dedue, Felix, all of you...carry Captain Jeralt back to the infirmary.” Dimitri issued the order firmly, voice softening when he turned back to her. “Professor, can you stand?”

She clung to Jeralt as they tentatively approached to lift him, waiting and watching to make sure it was okay. 

“I promise we’ll go back inside together--we’ll get you to the infirmary too, if that’s what you want. But Sylvain’s right, we need to get you out of the rain as soon as possible.”

She wasn’t sure what it was that finally made her yield. Maybe she’d given up, began to accept the truth of what happened for what it was. Maybe it was the gentle regard in his voice, the warmth at her shoulder coaxing her to move--to stand. It would be the first step to moving on, and the thought made a burning ache begin in her stomach, and fresh tears spilled. It was as though all those years of quieted feeling were rushing through her, ravaging her all at once. She fought to silence the gasp of each breath, only vaguely able to realize that she needed to be strong for them.

She tried to raise herself up on trembling legs but stumbled and slid on the muddied ground. It was only a firm hand under her arm that steadied her. Dimitri guided her arm around his shoulder, slipping his own around her waist--a brand even through the relentless rain. She sank against his side but he stood firm, arm only tightening.

“That’s it, take your time, professor.” He lifted his head. “Mercedes, can you get a change of fresh clothes prepared? We'll be inside as soon as we can, too."

She nodded, hand clasped to her chest as she turned to race inside. 

Her lungs seemed to tighten when she noticed the three men had already made considerable progress in the course of Dimitri’s delegating, already halfway across the field. As if sensing her panic, he began to guide her forward. Blonde hair nearly concealed his eyes, twisting strands plastered to his head as his usual black uniform shone--saturated with water. She couldn’t understand how he could be so warm, despite being nearly soaked through too by this point. It radiated from him in waves, and she had to resist curling into him. She bit hard on her lip.

She knew she was probably deadweight, nothing but a burden. It was her fault he was still out in the rain while the others were either inside or almost there. And he was practically carrying her back--there was no strength left within her.

Even so, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to make light of things, didn’t try to force cheer. He was just...there, immutably there for her. She doubted he would have returned without her, had she refused. She’d seen the look in his eyes, firm and understanding all at the same time--assessing quickly. It was why he waited patiently now.

“I’m sorry.”

There were so many things unsaid in those two simple words. She was sorry she didn’t anticipate the danger. She was sorry she hadn’t been able to save him _ twice _, utterly useless. Pathetic. She was sorry she could never be a normal child for Jeralt--one that cried when it made sense, one that spoke up and reacted appropriately. She was sorry she was making her students pay the price for that failing, for being emotional in ways that would only burden them. She was sorry she let their hero die. She was sorry she needed to ask for help.

“Hey now, no need for that.” He stopped long enough to meet her gaze, brows furrowed and eyes clear--not a single shade of deception. “We’re here because we want to be--because you’ve always been there for us, too, when we need it. You’re never alone, professor. So long as you want us, we’re not going anywhere.”

When she didn’t respond--largely because she didn’t know how, nobody had ever cared for her so deeply--he continued. 

“Whatever you believe--whatever you’re feeling right now, just remember that.”

Mercedes was at the entrance that led to the second floor, carrying a bundle for both of them when they managed to arrive. Puddles followed them as they ascended the stairs, and her shoulders were still trembling though the tears had eased a bit. She tried to invite him to change first, but he refused--insisting she go first. Numb and sticky, she fought off each garment and scrubbed at her skin as best she could to dry off. Her head ached and the skin around her eyes remained swollen, though she did feel warmer. 

When she opened the door she found Dimitri guarding it closely, arms crossed. She offered him the room to change too and some color found his cheeks before he nodded, shy as ever despite everything. Absently she returned the favor and lingered in front of the door, trying to anticipate what was to come. What would be Rhea’s reaction? Everyone’s reaction? How was she going to keep teaching? She couldn’t very well stop now, in the middle of the semester--and especially not while her students still needed her. 

“Er, professor?”

Slowly, her head rose towards him.

“Would you like me to join you in the infirmary? Or would you prefer to be alone right now?”

* * *

Something flared in her eyes--the slightest shift of light. And then her hand--had it always been so small, her fingers so thin?--wrapped around his. His eyes widened, trying to meet her gaze but she was already turning to walk the short distance to the infirmary. He followed silently.

The rest of that night was spent at her side, listening to Manuela’s analysis and holding her hand until she drifted fitfully to sleep--unable to fight the exhaustion any longer. Whether she didn’t want to leave Jeralt quite yet--or she didn’t want her other students to see her so out of sorts--or both factored into the decision, he couldn’t be sure. 

\---

_ “Listen to me, kid,” _ he’d been more than surprised to find himself under the captain’s scrutiny, eyes widening at the gravel grinding in his tone. _ “I see the way you look at my daughter.” _

_ “Sir?” _

_ “It’s the same way I used to look at her mother.” _ His voice grew quiet as he looked away. _ “I’m not stupid enough to try to force you to stay away from her--but take care not to get yourselves in any hot water, all right?” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _At the time he’d been so shocked by the insight, he couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

_ “And one last thing,” _ the enormous man had hesitated, arms crossed over his chest as he thought. _ “If anything happens to me, I’m trusting you to look after her. I know she can handle herself, and I don’t plan on dying, mind you. But...” _

_ “You can count on me, sir.” _

_ “Somehow, I believe that--though I hate to ask it of you. And no need to be so stiff kid; you’ll die of formalities before anything else, at this rate.” _

A pronounced chuckle filled the air and then Jeralt was gone, leaving Dimitri to wonder what the encounter meant. For the last week or so he hadn’t been able to fathom it--not until he saw the professor beyond consoling. 

It had been several days since she reached for him, his hand still tingling with the memory of her gentle touch. Her grasp had been hesitant; as though giving him the chance to pull away at any moment. To the contrary, he would never dream of letting her go. He had made a promise, certainly, but he hadn’t been thinking about that agreement in the moment. All he knew was that he wanted to be sure and steady for her when she needed it, wanted to be everything that she’d always been for him; a sanctuary, a place of safety. 

It was both...strange and heart-breaking to see her so utterly within the depths of despair. He couldn’t remember a time the professor had looked so openly sad. Everything she did held an air of distraction. Her replies were slow and half-hearted. Had she eaten anything since the battle? She hadn’t left her room in entire days; not even to venture out to the quiet of the greenhouse with Dedue, something she seemed to enjoy very much. She would always bear a hint of a smile there, eyes bright and touch careful as she looked after their patches of herbs and flowers. 

He wished he had the words--wished he knew what he could do, what it would take--to make her smile again, the way she had all those months ago when they rescued Flayn. He knew all too well that healing would take time, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her alone anymore. He knew nothing good could come of that, after a point. There was a time at which mourning wasn’t healthy anymore--not when it was this all-consuming. A person had to live on, had to work and step back into the sun. And besides, he had no expectation that she bury her feelings or silence them, no intention at all of asking her to let it all go.

Oh no. First, there would be comfort. Then, justice. 

With that, he resolved to find her, steps echoing through the halls as he made his way.


End file.
